Wishful Drinking

The fact of the matter is, Greg was a lot of fun—especially for a Republican, and he had great stories. I mean, this is a guy who had shared an office with Bush. But a long time ago. When Dubya was just George Sr.’s son. So they shared this little office and Greg once told me, “You know what Bush has as one of his many gifts? He can fart on command (in keeping with his jolly-college-good-old-frat-boy persona.)” And Greg said that what Bush used to do—when Greg would be expecting people for a meeting—W. would come in and fart in the office and then run, leaving Greg in the midst of it. Like someone in a cloud of marijuana smoke. And then the people Greg was meeting with would come in and, of course, they would find Greg surrounded by this awful smell.

It’s not dissimilar to what President Bush has done to the country.

At the time of Greg’s death, my friend Dave said to me, “Honey, I know this is a pain in the ass.”

And I said, “If I could isolate the pain just to my ass, it would be awesome.”

And Dave said, “Well, that’s the meditation then.”

You know what’s funny about death? I mean other than absolutely nothing at all? You’d think we could remember finding out we weren’t immortal. Sometimes I see children sobbing in airports and I think, “Aww. They’ve just been told.”

But no, we somehow gradually just seem to be able to absorb the blow. Blow not being the operative word. Greg did do quite a bit of that—just not on this particular evening.

But enough about death, I just wanted to get that bummer story out of the way at the beginning of the book because all the rest of my stories are just fun and laughs and skipping!

2. SCANDAL OUTSHINING CELEBRITY

So now, will you come on a journey with me? We’re going to start at death, but then we’re going to double back and go all the way through an emergency room (where they know me), through Watergate, back through Vietnam to birth. My birth.

I was born on October 21, 1956. This makes me quite old—half a century and change. I was born in Burbank, California, to simple folk. People of the land. No, actually my father was a famous singer, and you wanna hear something really cool? My mother is a movie star. She’s an icon. A gay icon, but you take your iconic stature where you can. His name is Eddie Fisher, and her name is Debbie Reynolds. My parents had this incredibly vital relationship with an audience, like with muscle and blood. This was the main competition I had for my parents’ attention, an audience. People like you. You know who you are.

My father had many big songs, but perhaps the one he’s best remembered for was “Oh! My Papa,” which I like to call “Oh! My Faux Pas.” And my mother, well, she did tons and tons of films, but I think the one she’s best remembered for is the classic film Singin’ in the Rain. But she was also nominated for an Oscar for best actress for her role in The Unsinkable Molly Brown but tragically, she lost to Julie Andrews, for her stunning, layered, and moving portrait of Mary Poppins. Ibsen’s Mary Poppins, of course.

My mother was also in another film called Tammy, which was also a hit song—which pissed off my father because that was really his area. She was actually pregnant with me when she filmed Tammy. So if you look very carefully, there’s a scene where she and Leslie Nielsen are in the garden trying to save some prize tomatoes in a rainstorm (like they do in old movies). Well, I am the bulge in the side of her abdomen. It’s some of my best screen work; I urge you to see it. Oh, and she was also pregnant with me in yet another film called A Bundle of Joy, costarring the marvelous method actor—Eddie Fisher.

When I was born, my mother was given anesthesia because in those days they didn’t have epidurals. (I always thought that they should make an epidural that works from the neck up, which was a condition I aspired to for most of what I laughingly refer to as my adult life.) Anyway, so my mother was unconscious. Now my mother is a beautiful woman—she’s beautiful today in her 70’s so at 24 she looked like a Christmas morning. So all the doctors were all buzzing around her pretty head, saying “Oh, look at Debbie Reynolds asleep—how pretty.” And my father, upon seeing me start to come through—crown with all the placenta and everything else (ugh)—my father fainted dead away. So now all the nurses ran over to him, saying “Oh look, there’s Eddie Fisher, the crooner, on the ground! Let’s go look at him!” So when I arrived, I was virtually unattended! And I have been trying to make up for that fact ever since. Even this book is a pathetic bid for the attention I lacked as a newborn.

My father was best friends with a very charismatic producer named Mike Todd, who produced a movie called Around the World in Eighty Days, which won an Oscar for Best Picture.